Homecoming
by wingedraksha
Summary: A triptych of postwar Kyro goodness. Angst, humor, and the impossible romance we all love.
1. Lachrymosa

Dear Diary,

Did you know that people used to collect tears? Ancient Egyptians stored them in little bottles and left the bottles inside the tombs of the dead. I guess so that the person who died would know he had mourners. Or something.

I wish I could put my tears in a bottle and seal it. Send it to wherever they-

Oh, god.

Can I write it? I have to, I think. I have to make it real… but it is real. It's too real for paper and binding. If I put it down in these pages, that won't help anything.

I want to send my tears to his tomb. Wherever they buried him. Maybe then I could get over this and move on with my life. Maybe then I wouldn't have any tears left. God knows I've shed enough to fill a bottle. Would he even care that I mourn for him?

He's dead.

He died alone, I think, because who would have gone back for him? Is that what he wanted? To… to be free. He's free now. But that's bull, I know. He's not free. He's just dead.

Lachrymosa is a state of being. To be lachrymose. From the word lachrymator. Or is it the other way around? A lachrymator brings tears, and to be lachrymose is to be terribly, terribly sad.

That's my word of the day. Of the month. It's how I found out about lachrymatories. They're the tear bottles you put in graves. God, how I wish I knew where his grave is.

I just want closure, I guess. To be able to go there, sit where he's buried, and lay down my sorrow wrapped in glass and goodbyes. Let it go. I want to let it go. Why can't I let it go? We weren't even dating, really! He never would have gone back for me. I never could have stopped him.

Saved him.

And why do I care so much? What is it about him that holds me so tightly? My mother once told me to pay attention to what draws me. What drew me to him? I want to know so I can rip it out of me. Make it go away. Make it leave me alone and take my heartache with it.

He wouldn't care that I cry for him. He wouldn't even remember me, I bet. I could hear ever single one of the cries he let out in his sleep, because he sleeps below me. Slept below me. He couldn't hear any of mine. Or could he? Did I scream in my sleep the way he did?

I do now.

Storm thinks I cut myself.

I have to go, now.

Good night.


	2. Revival

Hey. You.

Yeah, that's right. I mean you.

C'mere. I gotta story for you. Oh, puh-lease. Grow a spine. Do I look like I could hurt you? Come on. Just over here. It's not far. Look, you can still see the street! Believe me, I'm not gonna do anything to you.

Not that I couldn't, you understand. Jeez. Like I have to prove myself to you. Just trust me. Wait, stupid choice of words. Trust is for losers. Fools, right? There was some saying… whatever. Anyway, I promise. I won't hurt you.

Do you know who I am? Do you recognize my face? No? Huh. Figures. A year ago, you'd know this face. You'd run like hell from this face. Wait, hang on, that didn't mean leave! I'm… No, I'm not the magnet guy. Mutant? Terrorist? Well… that's part of the story I'm telling. So shut up and let me tell it.

I know I called you over here. Look, will you just give me a break? Look at me. I'm homeless on the streets of this dirty fucking city, and can't you see the death living in me? God, it's like it's woven into my clothes. Every day it gets a little bit closer. Heh. Listen to me. I'm a poet, now. Well, I was a poet a long time ago… sort of.

Okay.

So the beginning of it was with me being a complete idiot. I did… well, pretty much every wrong thing I could have done. I betrayed the only people I'd ever really been close to, and I did it for lies and empty promises. Yeah, I know. Stupid. Awful. Believe me, I know. Only, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. Power, you know? It's seductive.

So anyway, I became….

And I did…

And I hurt…

But it was all part of the job. It was all part of the cause. His cause. Precious freedom. Was it worth it? Well, check out my 'freedom'. Ain't it grand? What? No, I don't need a coat. I don't get cold much anymore.

And they were on the other side of the war. My friends, I mean. Ex-friends. And her. The girl.

Heh.

There's always a girl. Every story is about a girl, right? Every damn one. So. My girl. Not that she was exactly my girl, but she was close. We… we had something. Before I got stupid. Stupid-er. Her name… well, I can't really tell you, but she was… God. Okay. Is. She's not dead. Is she? Isn't it nuts that I don't actually know? They all… they left me. After that whole deal on the island. Everybody left me there. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to this girl. She's smart, and gorgeous, and talented, and so goddamn GOOD of a person that it's hard to even tell you. I don't know how I ever managed to get close to her.

You can't either, huh.

Stop snickering now.

But we did get close. She'd, you know, talk to me. Take the time to figure out why I was so surly all the time. Why I acted like such a jerk. She actually cared. Isn't that cool? Someone cared about me. Me! And that was meant a lot less self-pitying then it came out, by the way.

But it wasn't enough, I guess. Nothing was ever enough. It's weird. It's like, I never really had anything, so whenever I got something, I wanted more. Like if I only got so much, it wouldn't be real, and it would go away again. My logic sucks, I know. Anyway, my friends were do-gooders who were afraid to break the rules. This great, perfect girl of mine was like that. Is like that. She wasn't there when I left, but if she had been, I don't think even she could have stopped me.

Nothing held me back.

That used to make me proud. How come now, it just makes me sick?

And so I went and joined the bad guys, and we had a war. People died. Some of them because of me. Oh, your feet are getting tired? Go ahead, sit down. I don't mind. Yeah, I see you looking at my hands. Do you see a lighter? That makes two of us. Shit. I was hoping maybe I had one, and I'm just so damn hungry I'm hallucinating it away.

Thing is, I'd always kind of hoped I could go back. You know, if it got too rough. If we lost. Which we did, obviously. But… I always thought they'd remember me from before, and they'd let me back in. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I thought they wouldn't abandon me. I thought SHE wouldn't abandon me.

But they did.

All of them.

Hell, even the guys on MY side abandoned me.

And now, I'm having doubts. Well, I've been having doubts for a long time. Since about a month after I dragged myself off of that island (which was no easy deal, let me tell you- cops EVERYWHERE!); right about the time I realized that it was true. No one was coming back for me.

So there I was, not even twenty years old and broke on the streets. Homeless, moneyless, friendless, wanted by the law… It sucked. Still does. And I don't even know if they were wrong, not coming for me.

Were they wrong?

Was I deceiving myself the whole time? Making it pretty so I could sleep at night? 'Sure, of course you can go back. If it gets too nasty, if the good guys kick your traitorous ass, you can always go repent and rejoin them.' What crap, right? I see you nodding. You think I was being naïve. Which is funny, considering that while I was swimming in denial, I was torching Cure centers in my spare time. People died because of my teenage-rebel-bullshit.

And so I was being naïve. I admit it. It was just another stupid thing in my head. One among many.

Gotta say, though, it really hurt that she didn't so much as try to find me after the battle. For all she knows, I'm dead. For all I know, she didn't make it through. Do you know how much that burns me? Can you even begin to understand how much I wish… No. You can't.

So that's my little story. How I joined the bad guys, lost the war, got left behind by everyone on either side of this whole stupid battle, and everything else.

How I lost her along the way.

How I lost myself along the way, too.

So tell me. Please. Yes, that was a 'please' you heard. I do know the word. Do I deserve it? Do I deserve this?

… No, you misunderstand. I'm not asking if I deserved to have all these things happen to me. I'm asking if I deserve to be alive at all.

Did I flunk life along with Geometry?

Well, sheesh. How can I have a sense of humor at a time like this? That's easy. I've always been able to make a joke. It's like my superpower. My other superpower, I mean.

Now answer the question. I want to know.

Yeah.

That's what I thought.

No, no need to apologize.

It's not exactly a surprise. I know what kind of person I am.

Just, you know… wanted to get it verified. You can go now.

What am I gonna do now?

Well, if I thought I'd ever see you again, I'd say I'd let you know when I found out, but…

Oh, you have an appointment? Well. Thanks for, you know, listening. Whatever.

I guess this is goodbye. So… Bye.

Wait, you think I should what? I thought you said-

Oh. Forgiveness. Second chances.

Riiiight. Like anyone would give ME a second chance now.

Jesus, what are- Get away! Okay! Okay! I'll go! God!

How am I gonna do it?

How the hell should I know?

Sure. I'll, I dunno, put an ad in the paper. Or something. 'Anonymous Stranger: Don't Worry! Homeless Freak Won Back The Girl Of His Dreams!'

Uh-huh. And if it doesn't work? Come on. Look at my face. Does it look like I won't figure something out? I've drifted along for a fucking year. I guess it's time I swam against the tide a bit.

Yeah, I know, it's the poetry again. What? You know something? I think I actually will take that coat.

Hey.

Thanks.


	3. Restoration

Dear Diary,

Pinch me.

Yes, I know you can't; I'm not crazy.

But do it anyway.

John is here. John is in the kitchen, eating about a ton of fried chicken with Storm, Logan and Professor X (in his new body) watching him like hawks. John is alive.

John is alive?

I know. I do sound nuts. But I haven't snapped, I promise! This is real! Just like everything else I've told you, this is real. He's not dead. He's not dead! I could fill entire pages with him not being dead. Just that phrase, over and over and over and... you get the point.

He showed up about an hour ago, and Professor X sent out an announcement that we should all stay out of the kitchen. I knew it was him. I knew it. How did I know it? Oh my God. He's back. He's back. I have to see him. Now. I have to touch him. Feel him. Make sure it's really true. I know I already said it was real, but...

Where has he been? Why did he come here? Why did it take him so long to come here?

I'm giddy. No. Not giddy. I'm... am I happy? I should be happy. I can't even tell if I'm happy. Overjoyed? Shocked? Numb? I don't know. Why don't I know? I have to see him. If I see him, I'll know. Maybe. Maybe I'll just fall through the floor and go down, down all the way to China. Is China directly across the globe? Could I actually fall into China?

Not the point.

I'm going. I don't care what Storm and the Professor say. They're too scared to make me stay away, anyway. They're scared I'm gonna jump off the roof and forget to phase when I hit the ground. Ha. But I'm not suicidal. Well, obviously not NOW, but before? I wasn't then, either. I think. I don't know. I've never been suicidal before... Is that how it feels? Maybe I was. But it doesn't matter because HE'S BACK and I'm going to see him right now. Now.

9999999999

So I'm here after all. I made it. After that random incident in the street where I poured my guts out to a total stranger, I actually fucking did it. I came back to the Institute. And now I'm eating chicken.

I like chicken.

But I don't know how to tell them why I'm here. Can I just say that I'm in love with Kitty Pryde, and I need to win her back and put an ad in the paper about it? Would that be stupid? Probably. Damn it. They're all staring at me. This is uncomfortable. Well, of course it is, you moron. You're the enemy! Well, not anymore.

"You know, I'm not with them anymore," I say out of the blue. "Brotherhood, I mean."

"We know," Storm says. Okay, then.

"Why are you here," Wolverine asks bluntly. He looks sick of waiting around for someone else to ask the obvious question. Heh. You and me both, man.

"I told someone I'd come back."

"Who?" It's the Professor. Did I mention that he's not dead, after all? Not only that, but he can walk.

I know.

Pretty crazy.

"I have no idea," I say truthfully. "Some random person."

"You promised some random guy that you'd come back here?" Wolvie sounds incredulous. I shrug defensively. All right, when you put it like that, it does sound kind of nuts.

"I gave my word," I say with as much dignity as I can muster.

"Like that means anything," he responds. Storm looks sharply at him. The Professor says nothing. Wolverine looks unapologetic.

"Now, it does," I reply quietly. The situation doesn't seem that funny anymore. I look down at my fried chicken. "Now, it does."

And then the door opens and you know what happens next.

Yep.

It's her.

She's cut all her hair off, but it's her.

Sweatpants. Long shirt. Cute, pixie-like hair down to the nape of her neck. Huge eyes. Circles beneath them. Thin. Chapped lips. She looks like hell. She looks beautiful.

We seem to be at an impasse.

And then she lunges at me. I yelp and drop my chicken, instinctively catching her. There's a split second of uncertainty when I don't know if she's gonna pummel me or embrace me, and then her arms are around me and she's pressing her face into my shoulder.

"You're alive," she's saying, again and again. "I hate you, you're alive, I hate you, you're alive." I can feel her lips against my neck as she whispers the words.

"Ki-" Storm begins, but Professor X waves her into silence. I glance up at him, at all of them, and there's a new expression: hope. I feel Kitty's thin arms around me, and shiver. Circles under her eyes.

"Shh," I say inanely, thrown by this. Never wanting to let go. She's always been a ghost to me, and now she's holding so tightly that I can feel her ribs against mine. "I'm not leaving again."

"You're not- I thought-"

"I'm not dead. Close, but not quite." I smile into her hair. "Bad penny, you know? We always turn up."

"I really, really hate you," she tells me, lifting her face to look at me.

"Baby, you're not alone in that," I reply. And somehow, that exchange is as meaningful as if we'd said 'I love you'. And she's hugging me again, fiercely, like she's never letting me go again.

Is it completely lame that I don't really mind?


End file.
